


Night Creatures

by Magpies_and_candywrappers



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of past child abuse, mentions of alcoholic parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpies_and_candywrappers/pseuds/Magpies_and_candywrappers
Summary: The night may hold many things. What do you and Arthur find?
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Reader, Joker/Reader
Kudos: 22





	Night Creatures

**Author's Note:**

> So I realized I had posted this to Tumblr and not here as well.  
> Comments appreciated thank you

Arthur was trying to improve his sleeping habits, for you if not for himself. He needed to do things for himself though. He had been caring for Penny for so long. It was different now that she was gone. You had held his hand in the hospital and stroked his hair as he stared at her with worry in his eyes. She may not have been the best mother but...she’d been his mother nonetheless. You knew he had crawled into the fridge once which he’d sheepishly admitted to you. Stress and insomnia drove him to do things you didn’t quite understand though you tried. You guessed he felt so...so overwhelmed emotionally and perhaps physically overstimulated, he needed to do something, anything to distract himself from it.

“Arthur if you ever feel that urge, get me okay? Don’t feel bad about waking me up, you get me right away,” you had told him firmly. He said he would. When you had nightmares you didn’t say anything. You didn’t want Arthur to worry even if you had bags under your eyes and flinched at loud noises.

You came home once and he’d been thumping his head against the wall as if in a trance; he didn’t respond to your voice. So you had rushed over and slid your hand between the wall and his head, barely winced when he bashed your hand. You had never seen him do that before but it scared you. He finally turned to face you and he hadn’t been able to speak only stare at you with pleading eyes. He still couldn’t talk after thirty minutes only laugh until he squeaked in pain from the force. It had been one of those days. But you were his and he was yours.

So Arthur tried to be quiet at night when he couldn’t sleep or at least try to be still next to you. He tried his best and he succeeded fairly well for the most part though your heart still pounded uncontrollably when he walked past the bedroom door. It got to the point that you left the door open so you could at least see him and know it was just him moving around. Leaving the door open, however, made you anxious as well. You win some, you lose some. You could not remember who it was exactly, your aunt or cousin, always said people ended up with someone like their parent. The thought made you want to throw up and cry. Arthur didn’t drink. He chain-smoked sure and it made you concerned about his health but he never got angry with you. Any arguments you did have never escalated and you managed to work it out or at least not go to bed angry. You watched him sometimes in comfortable silence and drank in his features, his strong nose, and brow, the gentle curve of the lips you loved to kiss. His hands, oh, the things you thought about his hands, it was something you’d never admit. You watched him light a cigarette and hold it between his slender fingers or run a hand through his hair. Sometimes he caught you staring and he would give a nervous smile.

“What are you looking at?” he had asked softly and you looked at him dreamily.

“I think I’m looking at an angel,” you whispered. He had looked at you bewildered almost, unused to such a compliment but he was an angel. The way he managed to retain any form of sweetness in the decaying city, the way he danced for sick little children to make them smile. And it hurt to know there was a deep pain aching in his psyche. If anyone had ever even stopped to pause and look at this man, they’d see how beautiful he was, inside and out. 

So sometimes...sometimes when he was still at work and you came home to a silent apartment the thoughts crept in. They were like weeds being cut back over and over again, but they were rooted so deeply they would never truly be gone. Having time to think can be a dangerous thing. You seemed to realize Arthur would never think less of you because of what happened to you but a little part was terrified of what would happen. You didn’t judge Arthur for his past, what little he had told you of it. So why would he think anything bad of you? He knew something had happened but he had never pressed. He only knew you became jumpy at night so he tried his best to not disturb you.

That night though Arthur came to bed with you and curled around you, nuzzled into your hair. It was easy to fall asleep knowing he was with you, safe in the confines of the bedroom. Bad things happened at night.

The nightmare didn’t start out as one. But the routine of your childhood was familiar. Come home by bus and go inside keep an eye on the time and be hidden away in your room or the bathroom by around 4:30. Creep out for dinner then scurry back to your room and hope you’d sleep through the fighting. You never did.

You awoke slowly though in a terrified haze. Breath coming in short gasps as you scanned the dark room. Nothing. Just Artie asleep next to you. You shifted very carefully and took in his sleeping face. His face was serene and half-buried in the plush pillow, his thick lashes fanned out on his cheeks. He was okay. The thought occurred to you that it was perfectly alright to leave the bedroom. There was no one else in the apartment but you and Arthur. Giving him another glance, you carefully moved his arm, cringing as he gave a little moan. Waking him up was entirely the last thing you wanted to do at the moment. 

You tiptoed out of the bedroom and very slowly sat down on the couch and felt like you were in another world. You weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself. Before Arthur, you would have perhaps loudly moved about the apartment to distract yourself but now you didn’t do anything. Or maybe check all the locks and windows.

“What are you doing up?” Arthur asked from the doorway of the bedroom. Your head snapped up and a pang of guilt hit you.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you told him. You two stared down until you could no longer meet his emerald gaze so you looked to your lap. He walked over quietly and you swore you would have been able to it was Arthur in a dark room by his footsteps. It was how you knew who was awake and who wasn’t in the morning and whether it was safe to go out.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” he asked as he sat down next to you, shirtless and in pajama pants. And you supposed it would make sense if he knew when something was really bothering you.

“I had a nightmare. That’s all, I don’t want you to worry,” you told him as you grabbed his hand. Arthur frowned and lifted up your hand, kissed your knuckles.

“I...I bruised your hand. And you’re there for me. You can tell me,” he reasoned and you nodded. You scooted closer to him and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“In my nightmare, it was like I was a kid again. I was going through it again. The worst of it always happened at night when they thought I was asleep. Sometimes at dinner time if he was drinking early,” You whispered. Arthur tensed and you knew his protective instincts had kicked up.

“Sometimes...it feels like all the bad things just come rushing back. I don’t know why. Like I have to stop and sit down to breathe,” you explained slowly trying to put in words. Arthur hummed softly, the noise vibrating in his chest.

“And...I feel strange sometimes...because I stop and think ‘Other people don’t feel this. They can just go on with their lives’ you know?” you said and Arthur nodded into your head.

“Can I show you something?” he asked and you nodded. He got up and went to the table where he usually wrote and grabbed his journal. You looked at him with a mildly surprised expression. Arthur was pretty protective of his journal and was probably nervous about showing you. He opened it to a certain page and then hesitantly handed it to you. You looked at him and pecked him on the lips. He rested his chin on your shoulder as he waited for you to read it. In his messy scrawl was ‘The Worst part about having a mental illness is people expect you to behave as if you don’t’ with a shaky smiley face in the ‘O’ of don’t. His leg was bouncing a mile a minute. Your lip trembled as you fought back tears.

“You’re right you know,” you mumbled as you handed his journal back to him. He tucked it away in the corner of the couch and wrapped his arms around you. You understood. A part of you was always going to be fractured there was no changing that but you could make sure the cracks didn’t spread. No one said it was going to be easy though. He understood but it hurt that he did. You rubbed at your burning eyes.

“I know you worry about me, Y/n. But I worry about you. I want to help you too,” he insisted. Your lip trembled dangerously at his earnest words

“You make me feel safe, Arthur. You’re good to me,” you whispered as a tear slipped down your cheek. He wiped it away.

“You’re good to me too,” he whispered, so softly, almost childlike. You smiled wanly and took his hand.

“Let’s go back to bed. Even if I can’t fall asleep, you’re here with me,” you said. It was true. You felt safe with your back to Arthur as he followed you back to the bedroom. Felt even safer back in bed with his arm around your waist, his leg slotted between yours. You lazily rubbed his back which made him melt against you. Arthur was a good man. And you were good enough for him.


End file.
